Spindle(26)

Ethel had no idea. To have a constant reminder of what could have been with her ex-sweetheart was beyond what Briar could handle. She pivoted in the doorway, weighing the decision. She was eager to slip out of the house and search for the peddler while it was still light out.

“It won’t take long.”

“Of course not.” Briar sat down on her bed to wait for Sadie. They’d learned to have the talk about expectations early and straight out, so everyone would be comfortable in voicing their concerns, and small irritants wouldn’t grow into big fights later on. They didn’t spend a lot of time in their rooms, but they didn’t want that time to be miserable, either.

Mim was already taking stock of her space, a look of concern as she eyed the places that should belong to a fourth girl, but that she had already taken over.

Ethel joined Briar on their bed. Soon, Sadie came in with more belongings than Ania would ever hope to have, and Mim willingly gave up more space to her.

“Are you sure you only need that much room under the bed?” asked Mim. “I can stack some of my things up in the corner here. Just let me know.”

It was more than Briar could take. It was as if Mim was being extra friendly to punish Briar for her comment about Pierre. Briar stood and put a shawl around her shoulder. “I’ll be back before curfew.” Ethel was really the one who cared about the rules anyway.

“Stay with us,” said Sadie sweetly. “We’re just starting to get to know each other.”

“And the rules…” said Ethel.

Briar waved her hand above her head on the way out the door. Two steps outside and she was able to take a deep breath. Her churning stomach was sufficient motivation to find the peddler. Briar couldn’t tell if she didn’t like Sadie because she was seeing Wheeler, or if she didn’t like Sadie because of Sadie herself.

She wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders to guard against the evening chill. The damp vapors seeped through to her skin and on any other night would have made her retreat to her room. The fog hung heavy, creating softly glowing balls of light around the lampposts turned on early because of the strange mist.

Up and down the street, various peddlers’ carts parked in front of the boardinghouses, but with the mist she couldn’t tell one apart from the other. She ran to the edge of the road where her peddler had been. She started to walk out of town, but quickly decided that was a bad idea. It was already growing dark and the curfew bell would go soon. Besides, he was a transient and had probably moved on to the next town.

He’d wanted to give her a gift. Why had she fought taking the spindle?

Her mood shifting with the mist, she returned down the long row of boardinghouses, eyeing the carts as she passed. No sign of an overpacked cart pulled by a rough-and-tumble old donkey.

She drudged home, letting the long day weigh on her. It was not meant to be.

At her boardinghouse, a peddler cart had pulled up last minute to catch all the girls leaving from visiting, and going back to their homes. Several girls had crowded around so she couldn’t get a good look at it. Could it be?

She pushed her way through. “Excuse me,” Briar said. But it was only Jolly Jim at the helm of his cart, a regular who never had anything of interest for her. Cheap goods that broke as soon as he left town. Disappointed, she squeezed through the mob again and started up the stairs.

“Seems to me the girl changed her mind,” came a voice out of the shadows on the porch.

The peddler!

“Where is your cart?” asked Briar, both eager and frightened at the same time. Something about this man sent shivers down her neck, and she found herself wishing Ethel were here to help her keep a level head.

“I don’t need my cart. Only this box.” He looked down at the bench.

Briar blinked. She didn’t remember a box being there a second ago, although with the shadows it was hard to tell.

“Is that…?”

He nodded. “I was about to leave town and I still had it in my cart. I know to whom it belongs, so I couldn’t leave without bringing it to you. Remember what I said, but keep it hidden. Someone might try to take it from you.”

He used his cane to push himself off the bench and stood close to Briar. “Be careful. The end is sharp.” She took a step back. He tipped his floppy hat at her, and was down the stairs and up the street before Briar found her voice.

“What’s that?” asked Lizbeth, a girl who lived on the first floor. She made a move toward the bench.

“It’s mine,” said Briar hurriedly. She scooped up the narrow box and, hugging it to her chest, rushed into the house. Not even stopping to see who was in the parlor, she raced up the wooden staircase to the third floor.

The door to her room was closed. That either meant no one was there, or her room-mates didn’t want to be bothered. She held her ear to the door and didn’t hear anything. Opening the door, she prepared an answer to explain what she was carrying. But the room was empty. Good. She had time.

She set the package down on the mattress she shared with Ethel. Their double bed was covered in a dull patchwork quilt that Briar had brought from home. Some prints were so faded you couldn’t tell what the original color was, though Briar could remember each one from her childhood. Ethel didn’t care if their bed was fancy or not, so she welcomed the quilt. In fact, when Ethel came to town the only thing she came with was a bag full of hope.